Idrisi walked to the palace and was received by William, attired in the costume of a Sultan with the royal cloak draped around his shoulders. He was a large, black-bearded man of frightening appearance. Having embraced Idrisi, he pleaded with him to become the Amir of Amirs and return to the palace. Idrisi thanked the ruler warmly, but declined the offer to replace Philip. He pleaded scholarly duties, explaining the need to complete the Formulary this year so as to help physicians save more lives. The new Sultan appeared to accept this and proceeded to inform him that the Barons were intent on disregarding Rujari’s testament. ‘They want to bury my father in the Cathedral in Palermo.’
‘He built a church especially in Cefalu to be his burial place. He loved the town and the church.’
‘And someone else too, Master Idrisi, as we both know.’
‘Nonetheless, it was his last request to me.’
‘And to me. And to my mother. But the Church and the Barons insist on Palermo. Philip was the only person on this island who could have buried him in Cefalu. So let them bury him in Palermo. There is another reason why he can’t be buried in Cefalu: Bishop Boso backed the wrong Pope and now Rome won’t consecrate his church. How can a King be buried in an unconsecrated church? I’ve promised Boso that once he makes friends with Rome he can have my father’s body as well and we can have two funerals for your friend. Did you ever meet his concubine in Cefalu? Come on, tell me. What was she like? Is it true she was with child and…’
William, swaying slightly, began to laugh. It was an unpleasant laugh and Idrisi, who had once attempted to teach this boy geography, astronomy and medicine, gave his former pupil a stern look. It was obvious he had been smoking too many pipes of shahdanj al-barr.
‘Sultan William,’ Idrisi began, but he could not continue. William had fallen off the chair and was seemingly asleep on the floor. His attendants lifted him from the ground. He recovered and dismissed the attendants, although Idrisi was only too well aware that they were being watched from secret spy-holes.
‘Master Idrisi, we shall see you at my father’s funeral.’
‘Have I the Sultan’s permission to use the library? There are manuals of medicine which are not available elsewhere on this island.’
‘Of course, and you did not need my permission. You organised that library before I was born. Use it as much as you wish. One question for you, Master Idrisi, and I wish you to be completely honest as you were with my father.’
‘I will try.’
‘How would you assess my late father as a ruler? Just in a few words, I mean.’
‘I would say that Sultan Rujari of Siqilliya was for most of his reign a wise and considerate ruler, who protected all his subjects regardless of creed. He governed his people with equity and impartiality, impressing all by the beauty of his actions, the depth of his insights and the sweetness of his character. I wrote some of this in the dedication of my book. We could add that he killed fewer people than his own father and uncle. When he was ruler and people reminded him of the massacre of Believers in this city, just before it surrendered to the Franks, he expressed remorse and regret. He was a skilled administrator and a statesman who could outflank the Pope and the Emperor. Above all, he defended the interest of his kingdom before all else and did not allow it to be weakened by adventures in the Holy Land. He was always friendly to scholars and helped me considerably to improve the quality of my own work. It was in his last days, racked by a disease that made it difficult for him to breathe and affected his heart, that he weakened in mind, body and spirit. He allowed the Barons and the Bishops to convince him that a blood sacrifice was necessary to strengthen his family’s claim to this island. And in his last months he committed a crime by burning one of the most talented leaders of this kingdom, Philip al-Mahdia. Thus began the decline.’
‘I cannot repeat all of that, but I thank you. Men like you are rare in this kingdom. I wish you would stay by my side.’
‘There are others more skilled in the art of administration than I and they will serve you better. My advice is very simple: beware the Barons. Your grandmother had to flee the mainland to Palermo when your father was very young. She felt safer here because of my people. They were a counterbalance to the Barons. So be careful of them. They tend to strike when a king is young. And never see them in private without a hand on your sword and armed retainers at your side. May Allah protect you, Ibn Rujari.’
‘Just one other matter. It is of no great significance, indeed it is only curiosity. During Philip’s trial when a lot of lies were being told, there were two loud farts from the benches occupied by your people. I tried to join their choir, but failed. Was it the work of the Amir of Catania or Siracusa?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘It was a very good effort. If you find out, kindly congratulate the Amir on my behalf. I have decided to build a new palace in the style of your Sultans and with the largest harem in the world. Larger than Baghdad and Qurtuba and I will fill it as well. If you ever need a woman…’
He began to laugh again.
Idrisi found talk of this nature wearisome. Without replying, he bowed and left the audience chamber. As he walked slowly through the palace, he knew he did not wish to return here again. The eunuchs gave him nervous smiles of recognition. None of them appeared to be greatly affected by Rujari’s death. Philip had belonged to them and, in this very palace, the older eunuchs had watched him grow and prosper.
Idrisi entered the library. Perhaps William would prove his detractors wrong and better his father, but even as the thought passed through his mind he knew it was without substance. William might be stronger than they gave him credit for, but he was not an administrator or a statesman. He was too strongly addicted to pleasure. He would become too dependent on advisers who would kill each other to be near him.
Idrisi did not stay long in the library. He picked up the two books he needed to consult and decided to take them home, looking forward to getting back to his new son, now six weeks old and sturdy in voice and appetite.
As he climbed the path to his house he heard the strains of Ibn Thawdor’s flute and saw his daughter sitting on a wall next to the boy and watching him with entranced eyes. He smiled inwardly and did not disturb them. He was pleased she had found a friend in the musician. Elinore had been more upset by Rujari’s death than he had realised and had asked to accompany Idrisi to the funeral. Nor was he sure what she really felt about her new brother. He must remember to ask Mayya. The arrival of little Afdal had removed the last traces of the tension between them and he would often hear her singing lullabies he had never heard before. She had actually laughed one morning as she wondering if Balkis would have a boy and whether it would be identical to her own.
The Amir of Siracusa arrived a day before the funeral. He had come alone and was staying at the palace. Given the unsettled conditions on the island, it was useful for it to be known that he was a guest of the Sultan. The joyful look on his face was enough to convey the good news: Balkis, too, had given birth to a son and both were well. He handed Idrisi a small parcel, which was handed to a retainer and despatched to his room.